


Fortunate Son

by HoodedAndromeda



Category: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Backstory, Broken Families, Child Abandonment, Daddy Issues, Feels, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24111670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoodedAndromeda/pseuds/HoodedAndromeda
Summary: "Who would do that to their son? Who would want to hurt their child like that? What parent would want to make their kid feel like shit, like he meant nothing? [Drayton] wondered how long his father had been planning to abandon him, all of them. If he ever felt guilty about leaving them like that. If he ever looked back. If he ever thought about picking up the phone, even once, just to see how his boys were. If he ever even gave them a second thought."
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Fortunate Son

**Author's Note:**

> "It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, one  
> It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, no no no  
> It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate son, no no no" -- "Fortunate Son" Creedence Clearwater Revival

The sky was pink with the rising sun as Drayton watched the twins scramble up the dirt driveway of their grandparents’ house. Grandma and Grandpa stood waiting in the doorway, Grandma bent at the waist with her arms open and ready to pull the twins into a bearhug. Drayton turned his attention from his brothers to his father, who was sitting in the cab of the truck. His hands still gripped the steering wheel as he stared out the windshield, jaw stiff. Drayton carefully shifted Bubba in his arms. The dozing toddler had his face buried against his Drayton’s shoulder; chubby arms draped loosely around his neck.

“So,” Drayton said, leaning towards the open passenger side window, “I’ll bring Bubba up ‘n then we’ll head o’er to the station…?” Drayton knew there wasn’t any point in asking. They did the same thing every single day since Mamma died—on weekdays, Drayton would get himself and the twins to school (until he dropped out three months back so he could work more hours) while Pa took Bubba to Grandma and Grandpa’s. After school and on weekends, the three younger boys stayed with their grandparents ‘til dinnertime. Then Drayton and Pa would pick them up and take them back home. That was the routine. Unchanging. Still, Drayton always had to ask. Just in case. But this morning, Drayton’s question was met with silence rather than the usual grunt of acknowledgement.

“Uh, Pa? You alright?”

“Ya got the day off.”

“Huh?” Drayton was taken aback. He hadn’t had a day off since he was ten years old. Monday through Saturday, if he wasn’t at school, or watching his brothers, or helping Grandpa work the farm, he was at the station with his father, running the register, sweeping the floor, and straightening shelves. That’s the way it’d been even before Mamma died. That’s the way it’d been for the past six years.

“Y’heard me,” Pa snapped, and Drayton took a step back from the truck, holding Bubba a little tighter, “you better be grateful fer it, too, Boy.” Drayton was at a loss for words. There was no way this was his father rewarding his hard work with a Saturday off. Something else was going on.

Something was wrong.

Pa climbed out of the truck. “C’mon, now, getcher brother inside.” Drayton began to tread up the dirt driveway, his father walking about two paces behind him. Now he was absolutely convinced something was wrong—he was growing more and more uneasy by the second. Pa seemed to be avoiding Grandma and Grandpa, probably at least for the past year or so. He hardly ever did more than wave to them from the truck when he was parked at the bottom of the drive, let alone actually walk up to the front door. Drayton unconsciously began to stroke Bubba’s curly hair with clammy palms as he hurried toward the white farmhouse. Bobby and Nubbins were jumping around Grandma and Grandpa like excited puppies. Nubbins had gotten the bright idea to cut his own hair last night and Grandma was visibly fretting over his choppy locks while Bobby peppered her and Grandpa with questions about what they were going to do that day.

“Mornin’ Drayton, Bubba,” Grandpa’s smile faltered as he glanced between Drayton and Pa, “David.”

“Mornin’.”

“Mornin’.” Drayton and his father spoke in unison.

“How’re ya, Sweetheart?” Grandma straightened up and took a step forward, giving Drayton a peck on the cheek. He still wasn’t as tall as Pa, but Grandma had to crane her neck a little to reach Drayton’s face.

“’m alright, thanks. How ‘bout you, Gramma?”

“Oh, I’m doin’ just fine. And how’s our sweet little Bubba this mornin’?” She cooed, ruffling Bubba’s hair. He lifted his head a little and smiled sleepily up at Grandma, burbling a little greeting before settling back against Drayton’s shoulder.

“He’s good.”

“Has he said his first word yet?” Grandma asked hopefully. Grandma asked if Bubba had said his first word nearly every day, and every day Drayton had to tell her that he was still only babbling. He hated seeing how disappointed she was every time he told her no, but Grandma spent more time with Bubba than either Drayton or Pa. If anyone was going to be around for his first words, it would be her.

“No,” Drayton sighed. Grandma and Grandpa exchanged worried looks.

“He shoulda started talkin’ a long time ago,” Grandpa mumbled, “you think about maybe takin’ him to a doctor, David?”

“Bubba talks,” Nubbins said indignantly before Pa could respond, “I told ya ‘fore, Bubba talks! His w-words is just funny s’all, but he talks lots. Bobby ‘n me know w-what he’s sayin’.” Bobby nodded in agreement.

“Bubba talks _lots_. He makes reeeal good pig noises too! Ask ‘im, he’ll show ya.” Bobby moved closer to Drayton, standing on his tiptoes to poke the sole of Bubba’s bare foot. “C’mon, Bubba, do the piggy sound fer Gramma!” Bubba only mumbled incoherently and rubbed his face against Drayton’s shoulder, halfheartedly kicking Bobby’s hand away.

“Shh, Baby, leave your brother be. He’s still sleepy. He can show me later.”

“He ain’t sleepy, Ma, he’s lazy.” Pa grumbled.

“Bubba is _four years old_ , David,” Grandma chided, carefully scooping the drowsy toddler out of Drayton’s arms, “babies need their sleep.” She sighed. “Has he eaten yet?”

“No,” Bobby pouted, “an’ me ‘n Nubbins neither.” Grandma clicked her tongue.

“Honestly, David, when’s the last time you made your babies some breakfast?” Pa said nothing. “How ‘bout you, Drayton, have _you_ eaten?” He hesitated before answering truthfully.

“No.” Grandma clicked her tongue again, this time shaking her head.

“I swear,” she muttered, “alrighty then, boys, c’mon in. Let’s getcha somethin’ ta eat, hm?” Grandma turned around and carried Bubba through the door, Nubbins and Bobby at her heels. Drayton moved to follow as well, but then his father grabbed his shoulder.

“You stay put,” Pa said, and Drayton shrank under his tight grip and the harshness of his tone, “you ‘n me gotta have some words wi’ yer grandfather.” This was news to Drayton.

“That a fact?” Grandpa crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway, “Whaddya gotta say ta me, Drayton?”

“I—I dunno, Grampa.” Drayton replied, staring down at his dusty sneakers.

“Mhm, ‘s what I thought. Let the boy go on in ‘n eat, David. These poor kids’re startin’a look like a buncha goddamn skeletons.” Pa scoffed, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“They eat more’n yer pigs. Missin’ a few meals won’t kill ‘em. Pro’ly do ‘em some good. Build character.” It was Grandpa’s turn to scoff now.

“Chores build character, David, starvin’ don’t do nobody any good.”

“Y’see, this ‘s _exactly_ what I wanted ta talk t’ya about, you ‘n Ma always gotcher noses up in my business ‘bout how I should be raisin’ my own damn children!” Drayton’s gaze darted between Pa and Grandpa. He didn’t understand _why_ his father wanted him to be here for this—Drayton didn’t have anything against Grandma and Grandpa. In fact, he was sort of relieved to have them around. With Mamma being gone, someone needed to be there to watch Bubba and the twins. Drayton did his part, but he couldn’t imagine trying to work _and_ take care of his little brothers. Grandma and Grandpa had been a lot of help the past four years and, honestly, sometimes Drayton felt like they liked him more than his own dad did.

“Drayton,” Grandpa said, placing a calloused hand against Drayton’s upper arm, “go inside. This ain’t nothin’ you oughtta be hearin’.” He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know who to listen to. Drayton sure as hell didn’t want to stand back and watch his father and grandfather argue, but if he did try and go inside, Pa would grab him again, or cuff his ears. Drayton stayed standing still, staring desperately through the closed screen door.

“Like hell it ain’t nothin’ he oughta hear!” Pa barked, stomping his foot, “the boy’s sixteen an’ a goddamn _pussy_ ‘cause you ‘n Ma’re always fuckin’ coddlin’ him! He’s gonna stand here an’ see how a _man_ handles his problems.” Drayton felt sick. “No son o’ mine’s gonna grow up soft, y’hear?” Things had been tough the past four years. Losing Mamma hadn’t been easy for anyone. And Pa had never been the friendliest man in the world, but he’d never been like… _this_. Sometimes he snapped at Drayton and his brothers, or smacked them, sure, but that was normal. That was just Pa. Hell, that was everybody’s pa. Maybe he’d been a little meaner since Mamma died, but—but—but Drayton wanted to help. He wanted to make life a little easier for his family. He didn’t realize that what he’d been doing wasn’t enough.

“I won’t hear you talk about _my_ grandchildren that way, David, not a one of ‘em!” Grandpa snapped, “you gotcherself four good, smart, hardworkin’ boys—”

“ _Smart!_ Bubba don’t even talk, an’ yer talkin’ ‘bout smart?”

“Drayton,” Grandpa gripped both of Drayton’s biceps and looked him straight in the eyes, “go inside, _now_.”

“And don’t even get me started on the twins—”

“What about us?” All three men froze. Standing just behind the screen door was Bobby, his hand stopped mid-reach for the handle. He was gazing intently at his father. Grandpa released Drayton’s arms.

“What’re ya doin’ here?” Pa growled. Bobby tilted his head to one side, which caused his dark hair to fall into his eyes. He pushed the offending locks behind his ear.

“Gramma told me ta check ‘n see if Drayton was gonna come ‘n eat. She’s makin’ pancakes.” He glanced at Drayton. “So… are ya?” Instead of answering, Dayton hurried towards the door, grabbing hold of Bobby’s wrist as he slipped inside the foyer.

“ _Hey!_ ” Bobby protested as Drayton pulled him into the sitting room. Bobby attempted to wrench free, but the more he struggled the tighter Drayton’s grip grew. He couldn’t seem to focus on anything. He could feel the ground under his feet and Bobby’s small arm in his hand, but his vision was white and spotty—he couldn’t see through the bright splotches eating up his eyes, his eyes which burned like they were too dry, except the burning wouldn’t go away no matter how much he blinked. There was a ringing in his ears, faint but persistent, a sound like television static. The pitch of it hurt his head and seemed to make the bursts of white obscuring his vision worse. He could feel the rough hardwood catch on the soles of his sneakers as he dragged his feet and the sensation of his fingernails digging into skin—

“Ow ow _owww_! Leggo’a me, _leggo!_ ”

—how did they get to this point? Had it really gotten so bad so fast? Drayton knew it’d been hard on his parents when the twins came along. None of the other kids he knew had a ten-year gap between them and their siblings. He knew lots of people must’ve thought it strange and probably irresponsible, too. Plus, the twins had always been a handful. Nubbins didn't seem to have any life-preserving instincts. He was always throwing himself in danger's path, doing anything from trying to catch rattlesnakes to stealing matches and cutlery. He almost got himself killed at least once a day. And Bobby was so strong-willed. Really, a better word was defiant. He never went down without a fight. He didn’t quite flirt with death like Nubbins, but his stubbornness had gotten him into plenty of trouble. Drayton wasn't particularly looking forward to the day where Bobby'd be big enough that he couldn't just be tossed in his room when he was being too smart mouthed for his own good.

But the five of them had been doing alright, for the most part. Until...  
  


Drayton knew it wasn't Bubba's fault Mamma died. But he wasn't so sure Pa felt the same way. And they all knew Bubba was... different. Which didn't help him much either. But he was a good boy, except for how scared he was of strangers and how much he cried. It wasn't right that Pa was talking about them like this. They were his sons, after all. Didn’t they deserve their father’s respect? His pride? Bubba and the twins were just kids, and Drayton worked _damn_ hard every day. Every day! The only time he took for himself anymore was the maybe twenty-minute period before he fell asleep each night. He couldn’t even remember the last time he hung out with someone his own age. What more did Pa want from them? If Mamma were still around, maybe things would be different. She never liked Pa hitting Drayton and his brothers. And she always knew just what to say to make them feel better. If Mamma were still around, then maybe—

"Drayton, _stop_!" At last, Bobby’s cries reached Drayton’s ears. Drayton loosened his grip on his brother's wrist, and Bobby wriggled free, taking several frenzied backwards steps. He inspected harsh red fingernail marks on his skin with tears shining in his eyes, and Drayton felt a sharp pang of guilt.

"Aw, shit, I—m'sorry, Bobby, I just—" he swallowed, "look. don't go back out there, y'hear me?"

"I only came out 'cause Gramma told me!" Drayton sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I know. But don't go out there again. Not 'til Pa leaves. Stay in. Play wi’ Nubbins 'n Bubba upstairs or somethin'." Bobby stared hard at Drayton, still rubbing his wrist. It was strange to see such a serious look on a kid's face.

"Pa don't like us. Right? He don't like us. None'a us." Drayton's throat went dry. What was he supposed to say to that?

He couldn't tell Bobby that he was wrong, couldn't scold him for saying something stupid, because honestly, he was probably right. Drayton’d never dared to say it out loud, but a lot of times he thought the exact same thing. He never played with the twins or Bubba. He never asked any of the four of them about school or friends or what they did with Grandma and Grandpa. They were lucky if he bothered to feed them, and although Drayton seemed to have a knack for cooking and the twins could scavenge around the kitchen if they got real hungry, there'd be hell to pay if Pa noticed something was missing. He didn't want the younger boys around ever, and he barely acknowledged that Drayton existed, even when they were working together—unless he did something wrong, of course. Drayton struggled to come up with an answer that wasn't a flat-out lie, but also didn't mean he had to tell his little brother that their father didn't want them. Bobby looked down at the floor and shuffled his feet.

"I knew it." He muttered. There was silence between them for what felt like an hour. Grandpa and Pa were still going at it outside. But in the kitchen, the radio was playing something light and peppy while Grandma set out plates and Nubbins and Bubba giggled about something. Strange that behind Drayton, his family was falling apart, while just in front of him everything was so painfully normal.

"Ya ready fer breakfast?" Drayton asked softly. Bobby nodded. "Well, c'mon then." Drayton placed his palm on the center of Bobby's back and gently pushed him toward the kitchen, leaving the muffled screaming match behind them.

Eventually, after the boys had had their breakfast and were talking about maybe going down to the creek behind the house, Grandpa came back inside. He was red-faced and bleary-eyed, and he announced that all four brothers would be staying there for the whole weekend. But then, the weekend turned into a week. And then two weeks. By week three, Grandma, Grandpa, and Drayton were talking to everyone they knew, everyone they knew David knew, trying to get any idea of where he might’ve gone and if he’d ever be back. But Drayton had had the feeling since that Saturday morning that he’d never see his father again. And after three months passed, they gave up on their search.

Sometimes, Drayton wondered what would've happened if he'd stayed outside. What his father would've said to him. If he would've said goodbye. He wondered why Pa wanted him there at all unless he was just trying to humiliate him. Drayton couldn't think of any other reason why Pa tried to make him stand there and listen. Who would do that to their son? Who would want to hurt their child like that? What parent would want to make their kid feel like shit, like he meant nothing? He wondered how long his father had been planning to abandon him, all of them. If he ever felt guilty about leaving them like that. If he ever looked back. If he ever thought about picking up the phone, even once, just to see how his boys were. If he ever even gave them a second thought.

He probably didn’t.


End file.
